


The Wars We Make

by Aleois



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, I dont know how to tag, Keith is the Red Paladin, Lance is missing, Lance is the blue paladin, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War, haggar is dead, keith searches for lance, klance, lotor is mia, pre-established relationship klance, war typical violence, zarkon is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:10:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleois/pseuds/Aleois
Summary: After ten thousand years of struggle, Zarkon is finally dead, his son vanished.Two years later, the paladins continue to fight for peace in the universe, even as they struggle to live without a crucial part of their team. They believe Lance to have died in the war, the blue paladin vanishing during the final battle, his empty lion found floating in space over a long dead planet. Keith begins to suspect that Lance is alive after he overhears an odd bit of gossip during a diplomatic party two years later, and sets off to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find behind the scenes and sneak peeks of this story and others I'm working on at my tumblr [aleois-writing](https://aleois-writing.tumblr.com/)

Letting go was never easy. In fact, it was probably one of the hardest things Lance had ever had to do. And now that he was here, floating in the abyss with no choice but to do just that, he found himself strangely calm. He was dying, he knew that. Blue's hull had never been so quiet, never been so dark. The cold of space was leaking in through the tear in her side, the oxygen long since gone. Helmet cracked, no way to communicate with the rest of the team, Lance was, to put it simply, fucked. There was no getting out of this one, no teammate to show up in the nick of time and miraculously save him. No one even knew where he was. Lance didn't even know where he was. He had only one regret, and as he closed his eyes and gave in to the blackness encroaching on his mind, his last thoughts were of chapped lips and scuffed armour, red tinting off a purple gaze and the cutest damn smirk in the galaxy.

\---

Keith stood stiffly in the corner, fist clenching and unclenching repeatedly beneath his cloak. He had never been one for large rooms full of people, and now was no exception. It had been two years since they had defeated Zarkon, and they were now regarded as intergalactic heroes, names emblazoned across the cosmos, faces known by almost every race, and on every planet, moon, and asteroid belt with any form of sentient life. The Paladins of Voltron were invited to more political events than they could count, and Allura made sure they attended every one they could. "Zarkon may be gone, but Lotor is still out there somewhere,' she had said, an angry fire flashing through her eyes at the words. After Keith had driven his blade through Zarkon's black heart and subsequently freed the entire universe from 10,000 years of enslavement, Allura had given them all the choice of returning home, to Earth. For Keith and Shiro, the choice was an easy one. They had no family, no parents waiting with bated breath, no siblings left wondering where they had gone, so the decision to stay in the castle and continue their work was made pretty much instantly. Pidge and Hunk were slightly more hesitant, but they eventually decided to stay as well. Allura never questioned their decision, sending them off to work and disappearing with Coran somewhere.

They had finally defeated Zarkon, had finally freed the universe and avenged Allura's fallen people, but none of them could bring themselves to celebrate. Countless hours of training and hard work had finally paid off, but the victory felt hollow, stuck like ash in their mouths and dripping like hot wax down their throat. After all, what did this victory matter to them personally when they had paid they ultimate price for it? Every race and planet in the universe was celebrating, cheering the name of Voltron, of Princess Allura and her Paladins. But as Keith had looked around the room, taking in the sullen faces of the friends he had come to think of as family, he saw his own thoughts echoed in their eyes. How could they celebrate when their heart was missing?

Lance was gone, and Keith felt his absence like a hole in his chest, jagged and raw, bleeding through his insides and dripping from his veins like lava. Every breath tore through his lungs like quicksilver, burning up his throat until it ran down his cheeks, and it took him a moment to realize that the whimpering he was hearing was him. Warm arms wrapped around him and soothing words he vaguely recognized as the voices of Hunk and Pidge floated around him, but he couldn't focus on them, couldn't turn those vague sounds into actual words, the sound of his own crying drowning out anything they had to say. 

Lance was gone, and Keith didn't know how to go on without him.

Two years later and the hole in his chest hadn't gotten any easier to bear. He still saw Lance's blood on his hands, coating his armor and staining his skin. He still jerked awake in the middle of the night, shirt clinging to sweaty skin, eyes blown wide and breath heavy, arms reaching for a body that wasn't there. There was a perpetual shadow under his eyes, one that Shiro had stopped commenting on months ago, everyone pretending they didn't all have the exact same bags under their own. And now they were all stuck at this same shitty party, stuffed into uncomfortable suits as they played dignitary to a race of expressionless blue people who gave the term 'resting bitch face' a whole new meaning. The aliens were tall, beautiful in an ethereal way, limbs long and slender, eyes a deep lilac tinted with gold and framed by pale hair, silver like the moon.

Lance would love them.

Keith screwed his eyes shut at the thought and took a deep breath, letting the stale air of the crowded room fill his lungs with a gentle burn. Every fiber of his being wished that when he opened them again, Lance would be there, flitting about the crowd with a grin like the sun and eyes as bright as the stars, flirting his way through the mass of people until he eventually returned to Keith's side with a cocky smile and a press of fresh glossed lips to Keith's temple. _Strawberry lip gloss was Lance's favourite. He loved kissing Keith's neck and leaving patches of shiny, sticky gloss all over his skin so he could laugh at Keith's face as he licked it off._ A gentle hand on his arm shook him from his reverie, and he cracked his open to a face he had never seen before. 

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice gruff as it was forced through a tight throat.

The alien in front of him smiled, their pupil-less gaze sending shivers down his spine. "I apologize, red paladin. I lost my footing. I am sorry for disturbing you." The alien turned and disappeared back into the crowd, and Keith released a breath he had not realized he'd been holding. Deciding it was time to mingle, he pushed off the wall and headed deeper into the room, determined to play nice, for Allura if nothing else. 

"Did you hear about Lotor's new pet?"

"Lotor's still alive? I thought Voltron killed him along with his father years ago."

The alien who had spoken first laughed, a strange sound that grated in Keith's ears like bells made of broken glass, but their words had his full attention. "Oh no, he escaped. Slipped away while the Paladins were busy with Zarkon and Haggar."

"He always was a slippery one. What's he doing now, then, if he's managed to stay quiet for so long?"

Keith couldn't see the faces of the conversing couple, but he could hear the smile in the speaker’s voice, the purr in their throat making his spine tingle in a way that unnerved him. "He's collecting," they said, a certain implication behind the word that raised the hair on the back of Keith's neck. "His collection has grown quite impressive, I must say. He has one piece he's particularly fond of. Rumour is he’s had it ofr years, ever since he first disappeared."

"Really? Must be some exotic piece if he's kept them this long."

"Oh yes. Rumours say it's a human. From Earth!"

The alien's conversation partner gasped, and Keith's fingers tightened around a glass he didn't remember picking up. "Oh yes. He's quite beautiful. Dark skin covered in these little marks they call 'freckles', and his eyes! I have never seen a blue of that colour. He also has something called a 'tattoo' on his shoulder. I haven't seen it, but whatever it is, it's red and-"

The glass in Keith's hand shattered, and the conversation he'd been eavesdropping on stopped abruptly. By the time he had turned around, the aliens who'd been speaking had long since disappeared. He shifted his gaze down to his hand, eyeing the blood slowly dripping down his palm, and clenched his fingers into a fist. Time to find Shiro.

Thirty minutes and a lecture later, the team was back in the castle, minus Allura and Coran who had stayed behind to continue negotiations. "Keith, I know you're still having a rough time, we all are, but-"

"I think Lance is still alive." 

The look on Shiro's face was one of pure shock, a look mirrored by Pidge and Hunk. "Keith, it's been two years." Hunk was the first to recover, meeting Shiro's eyes before looking at Keith with a sympathetic glance. 

"I'm not crazy," he snapped, gaze hardening at the group in front of him. Pidge shifted uncomfortably, eyes narrowing as they lowered their own gaze to the ground. "Fine. I'm not going to waste time trying to convince you. Lance is still alive, and I'm pretty sure Lotor has him, and has had him since we killed Zarkon."

"Keith....It's been two years. If Lotor did have Lance, don't you think we would have heard by now?" Shiro said, voice patient and understanding and kind and it grated on Keith's nerves.

"And knowing Lance, he would've escaped by now," Hunk added.

"Not if Lotor did something to him. And if he had managed to capture a paladin of Voltron, it makes sense that he would have kept it quiet so no one would come after him."

"That is true. Maybe if it had only been a few weeks, or even a few months, but it's been years, man. Lance is gone. We gotta accept that."

Keith ground his teeth together, counting to ten before responding. "You don't have to believe me. I'm not going to waste time trying to convince you otherwise," he bit out, before turning on his heel and storming out, stalking quickly towards his room. He knew they were right, but there was a fire in his chest that had ignited at the words, and that fire was growing stronger with every passing breath. It made no sens; it had been two years, after all. But Lance was alive, Keith knew he was. He had nothing more to go on than his gut feeling and the gossip of two aliens at a party he wasn't meant to overhear, but that was more than enough for him. 

His bag was almost packed when the door to his room slide open. Pidge stood on the other side fists clenched and eyes glossy but determined. "I believe you, and I want to help. Tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new story, right? I figured I'd take the opportunity to work on my writing and attempt to improve my terrible dialogue writing with this fic of mine that's been in the works for a while now. The idea for this story was created when I saw two rather beautiful works of fanart by Elentori. This writing in no way does her art justice, but I hope you enjoyed anyway! I'm not yet sure how long this story will be, only that it will be long. Comments and critiques are welcome; I don't have a beta reader so please let me know if there are any mistakes!


	2. Ready, Aim, Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Special thanks to my beta Kirin, without whom this chapter would probably still be buried somewhere in the depths of my google docs. Please note the added tags for new warnings.

Lance trained his sights on Keith, watching as the red paladin moved through the field, cutting through enemies like some sort of grotesque performance of blood and gore. He was as beautiful as he was deadly, and Lance watched a moment longer before returning to the task at hand. 

This was no time to get distracted. Keith was able to move through the battlegrounds like that because he trusted Lance to be his back up; to take out any of the enemies he couldn't see. Keith was the blade on the ground; Lance his eagle in the sky. 

Lance took one more deep breath and wrapped his finger around the trigger.

Stop. Breath in, aim, pull.

One sentry down. Breath out.

Another deep breath. Hold it, aim, fire.

Another down. Another breath out.

It didn't take long for Lance to zone out, his mind emptying of everything except the enemies below as he lined them up with his scope. He lost track of how many he downed, finger pulling against the trigger with every breath, gun moving to a new target with every exhale. It was a process he had mastered over years of careful practice and grueling training; hundreds of hours of work put into breath control alone.

He hated that he had to use it.

But as each Galra soldier fell with nothing more to mark their demise than a quiet pop and a spray of blood. Lance felt a sense of pride well up inside him that he knew would worry him later, but right now just fueled him to keep going. To keep taking down enemy after enemy as they appeared behind Keith. 

For every Galra Lance shot, Keith took down three more. It wasn't long before the crowd started to thin, but instead of triumph, Lance felt dread pool in his stomach and spread through his limbs. Why were they retreating? Lance and Keith were doing a good job taking them down, but even from this far away Lance could tell how tired Keith was. His sword arm was slowed, chest heaving ragged breaths in between every movement. Keith was losing steam, and fast. So why were the Galra retreating?

The answer came in the sound of footsteps behind him, breaking through the silence as they moved across the crumbling stones of the rooftop he was perched on. Lance didn't even have a chance to pull away from his scope when he felt the cold metal of a blaster press against the back of his head. 

Ah, they _weren't_ retreating. They were luring Keith away; far enough that he couldn't help Lance. Keith seemed to realise this at the same time Lance did, a horrified expression coming over his face as he turned to run back to the building Lance was on, but the distance was too much. He would never make it in time. 

"Lower your weapon." The voice behind him was deep, rough and scratchy. It reminded Lance of his tio, a man who went through two packs of smokes a day and it showed on his clothes and the way his voice sounded like someone was trying to shove it through a cheese grater. 

Of course, his tio didn't shove a gun against the back of his head.

Slowly, Lance pulled his face away from his rifle, lowering the weapon to the ground. His mind tried to come up with any possible way out of this, panic welling up inside him as he failed to come up with anything that didn't end with a laser through his skull. 

And then suddenly Blue was there, her calm presence dancing in his mind as she offered him an idea. He grinned, letting his grip on the the handle of his rifle go lax. There was a grunt of approval from the galra behind him, and the pressure against the back of his head from their gun disappeared as they pulled away.

"Get up and hand over your weapon."

Lance hooked his fingers around the muzzle and body of his gun and stood slowly, aware of the blaster inches from his back. If he was going to do this, he needed to be careful. He only had one chance. 

Deep breath. Calm. Fingers around the trigger, turn and-

Lance spun around, fingers pulling quickly at the triggers of the pistols now in his hands. One shot goes wide, the other hits the galra square in the chest, and it staggers back but doesn't fall. Lance darted forward before they had a chance to right themselves, and slammed the butt of a gun into the side of their head. The galra falls, but Lance doesn't even have a chance to take a breath before they're climbing to their feet again. The shot fires before Lance can fully comprehend the action, and then the galra is on the ground and Lance is looking into dull eyes, green dyed red as blood spills from the gaping hole in their forehead and travels down their face to pool beneath his feet.

Something starts to crawl inside him, teasing at the corner of his mind and itching in the back of his throat because while he had killed countless enemies before, both living and machine alike, he had never killed someone so close before. Looking through a scope across a field or cutting down a sentry was so different than this. At least then he could shut his mind down, focus on the task in front of him. He didn't have to feel the warmth of their blood as it splashed across his face and dripped down his cheeks. He couldn't see the light drain from their eyes from across the field, or watch the way their faces went slack as a bullet tore through their skull.

No. Stop. Deep breath, in and out.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts away, forcing them into a drawer to deal with at a later date. He didn't have time to panic right now, he needed to get back down to Keith. He rolled his shoulders and took another deep breath, then headed down the side of the crumbling building to join Keith on the battlefield.

\---

This was it. Their last stand. Broken and bloody; bruised and beat almost beyond recognition. Lance and Keith stood shoulder to shoulder, backs pressed against the crumbling wall of a building long since destroyed. A strange alien mockery of snow fell softly around them; an odd contrast to the laser fire lighting up the sky above them in bursts of brilliant red. 

Lance was tired, exhaustion settling in his bones like sandpaper, grinding and fighting against him every time he lifted his bayard to fire. There was an agonizing pain in his leg he refused to acknowledge, new pain that ripped through the wound and shot like fire through his veins with every movement. 

Keith wasn't much better off, blood trailing down his face and smearing on his lips, chest puffing heavy with every breath he took. His gloves were torn and frayed, blisters on his fingers cracked and bleeding from hours of overuse, and his ring finger was bent at an angle that Lance was pretty sure it wasn't meant to.

“Is this the end? After everything?” Lance's voice cut through the sounds around them, fatigue dripping off of every syllable.

“Yeah…I think it is.” Keith sounded just as tired as Lance felt, his voice low and rough.

"Well, at least we had a good run," he quipped with a grin, the dry blood on his chapped lips cracking at the movement. 

Keith turned to him and reached up, cupping Lance's face in his hands and leaning in to press their lips together. It was a simple, sweet kiss, but it was full of everything they didn't have time to say. The way Lance's hands came up to hold limply onto Keith's arms told just how exhausted the other boy was. Keith pulled back, looking up from Lance's arms. His face was scuffed and bruised. Cracked lips pressed together, the taste of desperation clinging to their tongues when they pulled away. "Don’t go down without a fight. Promise me."

"Like I'd go down any other way, babe."

They spared each other one last glance; eyes damp with tears they refused to shed and mouths full of words they could not speak for fear of making the goodbye real. Lance drew his gun one last time and fell into step behind Keith, walking into a fight they knew they would not return from. 

And, yet, as they descended onto the battlefield, Keith cutting down hundreds of enemies as Lance shot through hundreds more, he couldn't help but hope, even as hope seemed to dangle by a rope soaked in kerosene, and the two of them burned like a gunshot.

And then hope appeared, in the shape of Hunk and Pidge.

They showed up in a rain of bullets and a war cry so loud and ridiculous Lance couldn't help but laugh. Hunk stormed in, gun firing wildly. Pidge was right beside him, whip flying out and knocking enemies back in a shower of green sparks, and Lance didn’t think he had ever been happier to see them as he was right then.  
“Looked like you might need a hand,” Pidge said, a smirk sliding across their face.

Lance scoffed, twirling one of his pistols in his hand. “Nah, we totally had this. But since you’re here already, I guess you can help us.”

Pidge rolled their eyes and shoved their shoulder into Lance’s side. “Yeah, whatever. You look half dead, and I’m pretty sure Keith’s hand is broken.”

At Pidge’s words, Lance looked back down at his partners hands. He had glanced over them before, but hadn’t had time to actually _look_. And as much as he wanted to now, the scratches and flecks of blood catching his eye, he still didn’t have time. 

So he turned back to the battle, back to the advancing horde of galra, and smiled. “Let’s kick some furry ass.”

\-----

He looked down at his trembling hands, caked in so much dirt and blood and dust that he could scarcely see his own skin. Hands that had once been used to help nurse a sick sister back to health, to relieve a stressed mother from the duty of cooking for seven, had helped countless civilizations and freed hundreds of planets. Hands that had been instruments in saving the universe time and again, had also been used as tools of death. Barely of legal age yet, these hands had already caused so much destruction, had been the trigger point to ending so many lives that Lance knew he could never wash the stain away.

When had this happened? When had he become this… _thing_? This mindless machine who would do anything to save his friends, his family, even if that meant taking hundreds of lives?

He couldn't recall when things had started to change. He couldn't even remember the first time he took a life. Lance had always prided himself on his ability as a sniper, proudly flaunting the nickname his friends had given him. 'Sharpshooter', because he never missed a shot.

Is that what had made him this way? So cold and unfeeling? Always away from the fight, perched high above and picking people off whenever he had an opening. He couldn't count the number of notches he had in his proverbial belt. Couldn't even ballpark an idea. But what really scared him, the reason he couldn't bring his hands to still, was because he found that he did not care.

He could never give back the lives he took, and he would see each and every shot every time he closed his eyes, but perhaps he could make up for it.

He lifted his eyes back up to the scene in front of him, a battlefield stained red and littered with the unmoving corpses of hundreds of aliens. Just moments ago, Lance had been fighting alongside them, and he found the sight of them, eyes wide and lifeless, soaked in blood and laser charred, almost too much to bear. He swallowed and turned away, a sick feeling in his gut as he made his way slowly towards Blue. Keith was ahead of him, one arm slung over Hunks shoulder as he and Pidge helped the red paladin to his lion. 

Keith noticed his hesitation and turned to look at him. "Are you alright?" Keith's voice was low, concern bleeding through as he leaned into Hunk. Ignoring the blackness swimming on the edge of his vision, Lance nodded. 

"I'll be fine, Samurai. You worry about getting to your lion in one piece."

A smile cracked across Keith’s face and he turned back and continued towards Red. She was crouched beside Yellow and Green, all three with their mouths open and waiting for their paladins. Blue was just a bit to the side, and Lance made his slow awy to her, one hand wrapped around his waist. As he got closer, she leaned down and opened her mouth, allowing Lance inside.

The cool blue of his lion’s control room calmed Lance, and he leaned back into the chair with a heavy sigh. Blue’s mind wrapped around his, an offering of comfort he happily accepted. Being in Blue’s mind was like being surrounded by the ocean, a sense of peace as he floated on calm waters. 

“What is it, girl?” he asked, as a feeling of sudden distress pushed into his mind. She directed his gaze to the edge of the battlefield, where a lone figure was moving across the now empty space. He zoomed in on the figure, mouth dropping open as recognition spread across his face.

Lotor.

Mouth setting in a tight line, Lance ignored the burning pain in his stomach and powered Blue up, leaping in the air to take off the quickly disappearing figure.

“Lance? What are you doing?” The coms crackled to life, carrying Keith’s worried voice to Lance.

“Don’t worry, babe. Just going after a few stragglers.”

“You sure? I can come help you, man.” Hunk’s voice held just as much worry as Keith’s had, and Lance grit his teeth. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. You guys go find Zarkon before he gets away. I’ll clean this up and then catch up.”

There was a brief moment of tense silence as they thought over Lance’s proposition before Pidge broke through the silence. “It’s just a few stragglers. We can’t let Zarkon get away, and Lance says he can handle it. We need to go help Shiro.”

Lance could practically hear Keith thinking, but he was right and Keith knew it. There was a drawn out sigh, and Keith’s voice came over the comms. “Alright. Be careful, okay?”

“Careful’s my middle name.”

“Lance.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be careful, promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Love ya, cowboy.”

Keith groaned, and Lance could practically hear his eyes rolling. “Just hurry up.”

It didn’t take Lance long to catch up with the Galra prince, and he had to fight to push back the sick feeling of fear in his gut. Something wasn’t quite right, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He needed to find Lotor and get back to the fight. If the Galra prince abandoned the battle and his father to come all the way out to a empty ship, Lance was going to find out why. He needed to prove himself, needed to prove that he wasn’t a monster, that what he did on that battlefield was necessary for them to win the war.

He needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t just a mindless killing machine, that the shudder that ran through his spine and crackled on his fingertips as his bullets dropped Galra soldiers left and right wasn’t excitement. It was fear.

Right?


End file.
